


To Scream

by westcoastsmoked



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Angst, Exes, M/M, Post-Canon, brief and estranged dadspy, miss p is mentioned, some murder, yeah there's no like happy ending so enjoy that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:47:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25773088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westcoastsmoked/pseuds/westcoastsmoked
Summary: Revenge is sickeningly sweet, but the anger behind it is unavoidably sour.A rewrite/reedit of an older fic.
Relationships: Scout & Sniper (Team Fortress 2), Scout/Sniper (Team Fortress 2)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 26





	To Scream

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of a fic from over a year ago. It doesn't end with love. Have fun.

Murder isn’t sane, it never has been. Yet it is all I had ever known.

I want to scream when I kill another victim.

I want to scream when I take another contract.

I want to scream when I see you. You tore me apart, limb from limb, and I can only wish to forget. I scream for you, and the parts of me you took with you.

And I will want to scream when I kill you.

But I haven’t screamed all of those times, and I won’t scream when you’re dead. You deserve what’s coming.

I walked into the meeting room. I saw you sitting across from me and my stomach lurched. The calmness in which you scanned me over, the lack of attention you paid to the person you made me into, made me feel sick. As if I could scream. I got my contract from our manager, and I left. 

Another day, another person to kill. The year was 1973, and our work as mercenaries had ended. 

The war was comfortable, the years we had spent as lovers on the same team, day in, day out. People said that war was sinful and that our love was going to get us sent to hell. There was no god on a battlefield, there was no god between me and you. It was love, or at least I pretended it was.

By now we had become assassins. You were already familiar with the task, you were already familiar with taking contracts and killing whoever you were assigned to. You didn’t feel remorse, you didn’t care when you saw their faces, bloody and pale, after seeing how they had a family, after seeing their faces full of life. 

You didn’t feel, and never did.

I left the room the same as I always do, read the instructions on my way out of the base, read the details on the bus ride there, and burned the contract at my bus stop.

The metal of my gun, handed down from my father, felt cold and harsh against the skin of my hand as I walked into the office building. To everyone who saw, I appeared to be a young man looking for his father. As written in the contract, as planned. I asked the secretary if my ‘father’ was at work, and she said she’d leave a note on his desk for him to meet me on the roof, to speak privately, when he returned from his break. As per my request. 

I waited for him on the roof, and after very little deliberation, I shot him. Put a different gun in his hands, pushed him off the roof into the alleyway, and took the fire escape down and away from the building. Got on the bus, and went home. As per usual.

Again, another day, another person to kill. 

When I got home that day, I laid down in my bed. My apartment was alright, small, but it never needed to be any larger. I was alone, anyway. Graffiti all over the walls, posters everywhere, cluttered shelves and chairs. As I laid there, eyes glossy and staring up at the ceiling, I thought of you.

How at that moment, you were probably holed up in a hotel room, sitting on the balcony, poised with your rifle. Looking down the scope at someone relaxing in the city, and sipping your coffee. Watching them walk into a secluded spot from above, and pulling the trigger. I thought of that, and I thought of how you would always laugh a bit after, as you went to focus your scope on that person’s partner, or maybe their child. Heartless as ever.

I knew you were heartless from the start. A cold, empty, killing machine. Yet I still fell for your charms. I was born in Boston, so I’ve always loved the cold.

You made me feel special, you made me feel safe, and I fell in love. Fell for your Australian accent, or your grey and dead eyes, or for your lustful and serious personality. That was when I was upbeat, hopeful, naive.

Now I’m just cold and alone too. The way you always were.

I knew you were heartless when you told me you loved me and ignored me for three days. I knew it when you started hanging out with me less and less.

And I knew it when I saw you making out with a dude from the other side, and then when I went to your van to confront you about it two nights later and I caught you in bed with him, loving him the way you loved me.

I never spoke clearly to you again, and I never was myself again. Changed, maybe for the worse. My mother doesn’t look at me the same way she did before, if that’s any explanation for who I’ve become.

After I thought about that week, the one that ripped my heart out, for the thousandth time that month, I called our manager to see if I had any contracts lined up for me, and for the first time in a long time, she said no.

That’s when I decided what I had to do. I had to kill someone again, but this time off-contract. This time it was personal, not business. It was going to be you.

The first step was to figure out where you would be and when. The logical answer was to call my coworker (and father) who was our Spy back in the war. He knew about where everyone was and what they were doing. Was he supposed to? Definitely not, but I don’t think he ever was one to play by the rules. One of the ways we were similar, and one more thing I hated about him.

“Hey Jack, how have you been? Didn’t see you at the meeting today.”

“Ugh. What do you want?” He was as bright and poignant as ever.

“Can I cash in a favor? For you leaving me and my ma’ all those years ago?”

“Merde.” I heard him sigh, collecting himself. “Fine, whatever. Make it quick.”

“Can you let me know when Mundy’s pickin’ up his next contract, and where he’ll be staying?”

“Let me check.” As the line went silent, I slid a few more coins into the payphone. Spy was taking longer than expected. After a couple minutes, Spy picked up the phone again. “He will be in the city tomorrow, it says here he’s been instructed to lie low in the Teufort motel after his kill today. May I ask why you want this information?”

“Nothing you need to know about, thanks.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

I hung up the phone.

All embarrassment about having to call that asshole aside, I got the information I needed. And with that information, I called and booked a room for myself at the motel.

I packed what I would need in a duffle bag. Change of clothes, toothbrush, body bag, hand-me-down knife, belt sander, loaded gun, hair gel; You know, the usual.

I took a cab to the motel and checked in. After I had settled myself in the room, I checked the way I looked in the mirror.

An empty shell of a man looked back at me, the same reflection I had seen since the moment you shattered me. It made me want to scream.

In the morning, I went to the front desk and asked which room a “Mr. Michael M” would be staying in. Room 23.

I knocked on your door, you peeked out to see who it was, and if that person was going to kill you. You saw me. 

“Oh, ‘ello Jeremy.”

“What’s up bud?” I smiled at you, as kindly as I could remember to, and you let me in the room. You looked over me, with a certain hunger in your eyes, different from the way you scanned me the day before. A familiar desire in your mind. Little did you know

We talked in your room. I sat still, patient but disgusted, at the brush of your hand across my thigh. Collected, but aching, as I led you by the hand into the bathroom. I played my part, perfectly seductive, but I wanted to scream.

You tossed off your jacket, leaving it on the floor. I did the same. I watched you start to unbutton your shirt, I watched you turn on the shower. Before things could move any further, I slung my arm around your shoulder, pulling you towards the sink, to get my form just right for what was about to follow. 

As I cracked a joke I knew you’d just love, I watched you in the mirror, smiling and laughing. A pang of love washed over me, nostalgia from years prior when life was so much simpler. 

Then I came back to reality, and slit your throat. Without a scream.


End file.
